


fingers laced to crown

by liamthebastard



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, No Dialogue, Post-Camlann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 16:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16876209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamthebastard/pseuds/liamthebastard
Summary: The passage of time had been made easier, Arthur supposed, bywhohe’d watched. There were times where Freya would direct his attention elsewhere, sensing in that otherworldly way of hers what would prove important later on, but for the majority of his time in Avalon he’d watched Merlin.





	fingers laced to crown

This new world was terrifying. Everything moved so quickly, from the people to the information to the lorries that blasted past as Arthur watched the roadway. He was lucky, in a way, that the Lady of the Lake had let him follow humanity’s growth during his absence. He’d been able to watch over Camelot as she grew, as her people spread across the countryside. He’d even watched her fall, and thought it pained him, he was struck more than anything by the _resilience_ his people showed. They’d adapted to every culture thrown their way, and despite growing pains had managed to shape themselves up overall. 

The passage of time had been made easier, Arthur supposed, by _who_ he’d watched. There were times where Freya would direct his attention elsewhere, sensing in that otherworldly way of hers what would prove important later on, but for the majority of his time in Avalon he’d watched Merlin. 

It was his own death and its aftermath that was the hardest. Freya had refused to show his death to him for so long, but Merlin was so grief-stricken that Arthur had finally worn her down. He’d watched as Merlin sobbed, as he screamed in defiance of destiny, and begged the Dragon’s help to take him to Avalon. Once the Dragon left, he’d watched as Merlin struggled under his body’s weight when he went to move Arthur’s body into the boat. For a moment, Arthur regretted every moment he’d spent training, if only it would have made this burden a little lighter. Finally, Merlin found a way to carry Arthur down to the boat, with Arthur’s arms slung over his shoulders in a parody of what Arthur had longed for, once upon a time, but had never allowed himself. 

Slowly, painstakingly, Merlin carried his body down the shore to where the boat waited. Arthur’s boots dragged across the ground, and Merlin seemed too broken to even notice the resistance. When Merlin reached the boat, he carefully lowered Arthur’s body in, more gentle with this than they had ever been with each other in life. Arthur watched as Merlin had carefully straightened his armor and cloak, and cleaned his face and hands. There was a pang in Arthur’s chest that he couldn’t quite place, something aching and guilty, but not for the right reasons. 

Merlin took a moment, then, to look down at Arthur’s body. His hand pressed to Arthur’s forehead as his sobbed, and then moved to his hands before he seemed to compose himself and pulled away. He murmured something under his breath, perhaps a prayer from the Old Religion, and the boat began to float away into the lake. With strength and determination Arthur hardly could understand, he’d stood vigil and watched until the boat disappeared into the mists of the isle. 

It was plain on Merlin’s face that he longed to join Arthur, and he whispered a quiet secret that would condemn them both before that strength raised his spine and he slowly made his way back into the forest. Arthur’s heart was heavier with the knowledge of Merlin’s love, knowing that there was no way for him to return it. 

After Freya had shown him that, it became easier to understand the Merlin he saw over the passing of the years. Like any warrior, the weight of death had grown to heavy for him to bear. But still, Merlin carried on. 

He persisted even when Guinevere took Leon as her husband, something Arthur thought he’d feel more upset about. But he was gone, and his wife deserved all the happiness in the world. Leon was a good leader, steady and firm, and Guinevere had always been so strong. She’d insisted on keeping Merlin close, and appointed him Court Physician when Gaius passed. 

But it soon became clear that Merlin would keep persisting. Arthur had watched his panic when he’d realized he would live forever, had heard his discussions late at night with Percival, perhaps the only knight who truly understood what Merlin had gone through. Arthur had watched, helpless to comfort him, as Merlin watched those he loved slowly wither away and die. He’d watched as every morning Merlin incanted a spell to match his appearance to his age. And he’d watched when Merlin realized he’d have to move on from Camelot in order for her to flourish on her own. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him when Merlin took up residence in a small hut he built by hand on the shores of the lake. And it didn’t, not truly, but it did make his heart hurt that Merlin would have to live with Arthur’s death looming like a spectre over him, and the promise of Arthur’s return just outside of his control. Even Arthur didn’t know when he would return, and Freya was distressingly tight-lipped about it. 

Arthur wasn’t sure this was worth it. Merlin didn’t spend all his time living by Avalon; he did leave from time to time and so Arthur’s view went with him. Whenever war came to Albion - and it came so frequently, and got deadlier and deadlier with each repetition - Merlin would stare into the mists of Avalon, waiting for Arthur to reappear. And Arthur would look to Freya, and beg her to just let him help, give him back Excalibur and let him go to Merlin and together they could _fix this_. But Freya wouldn’t allow it. She’d simply shake her head and tell him that it wasn’t time yet. 

When it became clear that Arthur wouldn’t appear, Merlin would seal up his home from the elements with a wave of his hand, and go off to join the war efforts. Arthur had to work to quell the fear in his gut the first time Merlin charged into battle without him. It had only gotten worse as time went on and wars got bloodier and more lethal. Even with the knowledge that Merlin couldn’t die, it was terrifying to watch. 

The World Wars were the most horrifying. Freya seemed just as shocked as Arthur at the ferocity and violence, and sheer determination to kill. Arthur had thought for certain that this time he would get to return. Surely this was Albion’s greatest need, with London suffering bombings and her people fleeing to the countryside and dying in heaps of rubble. 

Evidently not. The wars settled, but tensions remained, and now wars were fought not on English soil but in far off deserts. Merlin had stopped going to war, and Arthur wasn’t quite certain why, but he knew it had to have something to do with what he’d seen in the Second World War. Freya had kept it hidden from him, protecting Merlin’s privacy. She promised that one day, when he saw Merlin again, he’d explain it all when he was ready. 

From then on, Merlin seemed to fall into a pattern. He lived along the shore as the nearby town grew and expanded and eventually paved roads covered the path Merlin and Arthur had once walked. Arthur felt even more like a weight then, something keeping Merlin cemented to Avalon and the past when he should be out in the wide world, traveling and living his life to its fullest. Merlin had been given so many gifts, but fate had turned them all to curses, and Arthur had never felt such a righteous fury at himself for causing it. 

Merlin’s loyalty deserved a better reward than an eternity standing vigil for a dead man.

The anger banked over time, but it would spark occasionally and fill Arthur to the point of bursting. Freya wouldn’t visit him when he was like that, but he was still able to watch as Merlin went about his daily life. He visited shops in the town, disguised as an old man, and made conversation with the locals he’d known for generations. He’d do his shopping and carry groceries home and cook for himself while he scanned the news. Arthur knew he was looking for him, for signs of his return, but there was nothing there that brought him back. 

It took decades, and several changes in Merlin’s appearance, from young to old to young again, before something changed. 

Arthur couldn’t put words to it, but something was different about Avalon’s mists as the twenty first century roared to life. Merlin was an old man once again, and something seemed off. His eyes were more hollow than they’d been before. For the first time in centuries, Merlin looked _old_. The weight of the world was crushing him, Arthur could see it, and one day, when he returned to his lakeside home from town, it reached a breaking point. 

For the first time in centuries, Merlin let his spell drop without his usual plans in place. Once again, he was the young man Arthur had known. He was so young, even, that it shocked Arthur. Even when Merlin wasn’t disguised as an old man, he usually made himself a bit older than Arthur had ever seen him in life, closer to the appearance he’d had when he’d become Court Physician than when he’d been the king’s manservant.  


As Arthur watched, Merlin waved his hand and his eyes flashed gold once more, and his modern clothes melted into replicas of what he’d worn when he’d laid Arthur’s body to rest. Panic struck deep into Arthur’s heart as Merlin made his way to the shores of Avalon, and he feared the worst. Freya was suddenly with him, a calming presence as she gazed at the same scene and seemed unafraid. Arthur drew strength from it, enough to think things through and remember that Merlin was nothing if not loyal and true. He breathed through the panic, and kept watching. 

Merlin stood in the shallows of the lake, up to his knees in the waters as he’d been so many years before. He dropped to his knees, letting the water rise up to his waist as he closed his eyes and breathed. In a soft, rough voice he spoke. It was not the new language of the land, but the language Arthur had shared with him. The words fell like water out from his lips, filling Arthur with hope as Merlin prayed to the Old Gods and renewed his vow to wait for his king. It was a promise not just for destiny, but for Arthur himself. It didn’t speak just of Arthur, the Once and Future King, but of Arthur, the good man Merlin _chose_ to serve. 

His voice was so wracked with grief, but with such a core of steel that Arthur couldn’t stand it. This time, he did not look to Freya. He was done asking for destiny’s permission. He took one step forward from the place he was, and then another, and another, until the mist surrounded him completely and he could no longer see the shore. 

And still he kept walking, kept moving through the mist, with Merlin’s prayer guiding him towards the shore. As he walked, the mists changed and shifted, flashing images from their shared lives across Arthur’s vision too quickly for him to truly process them. He pushed them aside, and continued on. They were the past, but Merlin was the future. He had to get to Merlin.

How long he walked, he didn’t know, but Merlin’s prayer never seemed to end. His voice carried through the mist as Arthur moved closer and closer. Soon, he felt water beginning to seep into his boots. It climbed up his legs until finally he was up to his waist in cold lake water and the mist was thin around him. 

Merlin’s voice cut out, but it didn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter, because Arthur could see Merlin, not in the way he’d watched him for centuries, from a distance, but really _see_ him, only a few feet in front of him. 

Before Arthur could say a word, Merlin was there at his side, one arm sliding around his torso to support Arthur’s suddenly heavy mortal body. His armor dragged at him, wanted him to go back into the water, but Arthur wouldn’t allow it and neither would Merlin. It was Merlin, truly, more than Arthur, who pulled them from the waters of Avalon. As the water grew shallower, Arthur felt weaker, his legs unused to carrying his own weight. 

Without hesitation, Merlin shifted his grip, scooping Arthur up armor and all into a bridal carry. Arthur instinctively wrapped his arms around Merlin’s neck and let his fingers lace gently into his hair, savoring the feeling of being genuinely _alive_ for the first time in centuries. 

They reached the shore like that, together, with water streaming from Arthur’s armor and soaking Merlin’s clothes. Merlin didn’t even seem to struggle with Arthur’s weight, he didn’t wobble as he carried Arthur away from the waters and onto solid ground. Even when he lowered Arthur to the earth, he didn’t release his grip. His support was all that kept Arthur standing on his unsteady legs. 

Merlin’s eyes were bright with tears, and by all the Gods, Old and New, Arthur was _tired_ of seeing Merlin cry. Before the sorcerer could give voice to his tears, Arthur hushed him and drew him close. 

Their mouths were a breath apart when Arthur returned the secret Merlin had given him, and this time, it was a blessing, not a condemnation. 

After all, they had all the time in the world to see it through.

**Author's Note:**

> I challenged myself to write an entire fic without using any dialogue as a reward for finishing my final projects for my history courses. I haven't gotten to write much this year since I moved cross-country and then got back into college. But hopefully, quality over quantity?


End file.
